


Flowery - mostly green

by argonautic



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:54:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29839089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argonautic/pseuds/argonautic
Summary: Jeremy had already assumed James had more than one, and a favourite among them.
Relationships: Jeremy Clarkson/James May
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10





	Flowery - mostly green

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Walk on the Wild Side](https://archiveofourown.org/works/47905) by [marginaliana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marginaliana/pseuds/marginaliana). 



> I’m aware this will never be as good as Marginaliana’s fic, but well, here it is.

That day, Jeremy’s genius idea for the show was proving that there wasn’t, in fact, anything like a women’s car, “… and, to demonstrate it, we’ll sit at the wheel in drag!”

James’s low-toned answer, “I’m not going to do that”, got lost under Richard’s higher-pitched objection, “But I’ve already done that!”; Jeremy was too confident in the quality of his proposal to care. “Yeah – by the way, you looked great”, he replied impassively, “So you can do that again, only in a car this time.”

Richard tilted his head, raising a surprised yet flattered eyebrow. Jeremy then asked for James’s opinion, more out of habit than actually interested in the reply, “May?”

“No. I don’t want to do that.”

The predictable, annoying objection had Jeremy scrunch up his face and begin complaining, “Oh come on, I’ve publicly made worse assumptions about your masculinity in the past!”

James crossed his arms before realising how defensive that move looked, so he forced himself to sound as unbothered as possible, “It’s not about my masculinity, you oaf – I just don’t want to do that.”

Too late. Jeremy had a sixth sense when it came to pestering James – and probably everyone else – and he wouldn’t let go.

“Did your mum dress you up like a schoolgirl when you were a child?”

“No. But pretend I’ve said yes and act consequently.”

“Can’t you just consider it a way to exorcise it all? It’s going to be fun this time!”

Unable to find the strength to keep arguing, James curtly cut it short, “Yeah, sure. Find another presenter Clarkson” and strode out of the door, slamming it behind himself.

Richard, who had been following the whole exchange like it was a tennis match, waited for the slamming echo to fade before speaking, “You really can’t understand a ‘no’, can you?”

Jeremy rolled his eyes, already resigned to listen to the incoming scolding – “Go and apologise. Now.” – and to obey it.

Predictably, James was having a smoke on the back of the portacabin, already regretting having overreacted like that. _Too much, you’ve made a fool of yourself_ , he kept reprimanding himself between one distracted drag and another. If the dissatisfaction for having gone through half a cigarette without having enjoyed it properly wasn’t enough, Jeremy showed up. Wanting to talk.

“Listen, I know we’re going to look like buffoons, but it will make for good telly – it will be great!”, he offered hands up as soon as James spotted him. Not even a faint hint of an apology, no change of mind: perfectly Jeremy. It sucked to admit it, but that also applied to having ignored James’s ridiculous claim of a few minutes earlier, so James found himself unable to complain. Yet he couldn’t help rebutting, “Sure – I mean, it’s one of your ideas, how can it be anything but great? Only, I won’t do that.”

“Oh, come on, everyone has dressed in drag for fun at least once! I mean, do you think I’ll look any better?”

Desperate times called for desperate measures. James resolved in spelling it out, “Jeremy. I do not. Do that. For fun. Is it clear now?”, hoping it was enough for Jeremy to understand or at least to give up asking further.

It took Jeremy a couple of seconds to grab the right meaning of James’s words. The astonished reply was a barely spoken ‘oh’, his expression richer than the sound, after which James nodded a final, almost satisfied “Great.”

Jeremy stuttered, “I’m… sorry, I- I didn’t know that”, sounding almost contrite. James just shrugged in response, “Nobody does. Well, nobody did until now”. _Nobody has the bloody lack of tact you have when dealing with me also,_ but it was something James wasn’t willing to discuss either, so he just took another drag.

Jeremy visibly reflected on James’s words before speaking again. Then, instead of apologising or changing the subject, he not so innocently asked, “So you do that alone, for yourself only?”

“I don't want to talk about it”, James stated, wondering how Jeremy could not deem such curiosity absolutely out of place - albeit already knowing the answer. He took another long drag, aimed to mark the subject closed. Comforted by the fact Jeremy pulled out his pack and a cigarette out of it, James even lent Jeremy his lighter when it was clear all the pocket patting was fruitless. 

He regretted it and almost choked on his own smoke when, after the first drag, Jeremy added, “I bet you look wonderful in a dress.”

“For the love of god Jeremy”, James cursed, “Just… don’t. Please. I beg you.”

It came out shamefully desperate, nonetheless miserably adequate. Unfazed, Jeremy replied, “I wasn’t taking the piss. But fine.”

James didn’t give much weight to those words, focusing on what was left of his cigarette instead, yet unable to enjoy the silence that followed Jeremy’s statement. It didn’t last long anyway: when James’s cigarette ended, Jeremy added, “Er, I swear I won’t hark back to it any longer, but… I’d love to see you wearing a dress. That’s all.”

Exasperated, James threw the spent fag away, sodded Jeremy off and walked back inside.

Later, when Andy asked around for potential ideas for a segment, Jeremy scrolled his head, “Nothing, sorry”. 

“That thing you wanted to tell me earlier, what was that?”

“Nah, it was rubbish.”

***

“Would you believe it? What is it, half an hour? For a bloody chequebook!”, Jeremy complained while sitting back at the wheel of his car, “I’m sorry for the wait – I really couldn’t expect it”. “No problem”, James replied almost absent-mindedly from the passenger’s seat, “I would have taken a cab if I were in a hurry – nobody’s waiting for me”, and kept fiddling with his mobile, unperturbed. Jeremy suspected James was tweeting something about never accepting a lift home by Jeremy Clarkson, especially if he had said he had to nip to the bank and sworn to be quick, but didn’t investigate not wanting to bother James any further. Nevertheless, due to the silence fallen between them, James’s last words kept ringing in Jeremy’s mind for the whole ride. “Aren’t you tired of living alone?”, he couldn’t help asking when pulling over at James’s.

“Honestly? No”, James replied, “You make it sound a sad thing, but I still can see more pros than cons in it. You’ve listed all the things you’re supposed to do once back home for the sake of someone else; I’m free to indulge myself in everything that crosses my mind – that’s a huge plus, in my opinion.”

Jeremy listened. Attentively listened, to the point James was already resigned to re-hear for the umpteenth time Jeremy’s trite speech about the irreplaceability of human warmth – human, not feline, Jeremy would have surely pointed out. When Jeremy cleared his throat, though, it was for a completely different reason.

“I swear I wasn’t thinking about it”, he began, gaze guiltily lost in the dashboard, “But I am now. And I feel the need to point out I’d still love to.”

“Uh?”, James mumbled, clueless.

“Seeing you in a dress.”

As his first, survival reaction, James tried to flatten out and disappear among the topstitches of the seat. Running away and bolting inside his home required a level of dexterity he could not offer at the moment. To make it worse, Jeremy took the horrified silence as some sort of consent instead; he turned towards James and asked, “What colour is it?” like it was the normal thing to do.

“What?”, James hissed, all of a sudden harsh and aggressive, in striking contrast to the softness of Jeremy’s voice.

“Your favourite dress, what colour is it?”, Jeremy repeated, impassively.

James closed his eyes and took a long breath in. Way too used to deal with Jeremy’s obstinacy in extorting answers, he didn’t even need to evaluate what the best choice would have been. He could only hope the extent of Jeremy’s curiosity was limited to the colour, but he feared it wasn’t.

“It’s... flowery”, James awkwardly huffed out, “Mostly green.”

“Oh. Nice choice.”

Indifferent to Jeremy’s opinion and still on the verge of losing it, James retorted, “Why are we discussing this? I asked you to not bring it up again.”

“Well, it’s just- I just can’t see anything wrong with it. I mean, you’re not hurting anyone – if it makes you happy it’s absolutely fine”, Jeremy replied with dreadfully genuine open-mindedness. 

James hated how much he liked Jeremy because of that, the sodding ability of mercilessly mocking him just for having been driving a Fiat Panda whilst offering the most considerate respect and support over such a shameful kink.

Still, the meaningless explanation had him wondering why the hell Jeremy was insisting on the topic, then biting the inside of his cheek to forbid himself to even consider _that_ answer. Failing.

“Want to come in?”, he ultimately muttered, almost unwillingly. Unfortunately, Jeremy was as perceptive as always; James loathed that as well - or envied it sometimes.

“Yes. But you don’t have to. If you don’t want to, I mean.”

 _Nice of you omitting the ensuing allegation._ James didn’t say it loud, didn’t reply at all and got out of the car, already numb to the world outside. Jeremy followed him, out of the car and up to the door, silently and at what looked like a safe distance.

Basically, James wanted to - he just couldn’t understand why. Amongst all the reasons, the one-that-shall-not-be-considered stood out – obviously – but still, he wasn’t underestimating the potential usefulness of a scornful laugh in persuading him to give up the questionable habit.

The tense silence remained unbroken until they were both inside. James walked straight to the liquor cabinet, looking for two fingers of something strong; anxiety almost made him forgot to offer some to Jeremy as well.

Opening his eyes after having emptied his glass in one long gulp, James found Jeremy staring at him, waiting the right moment to ask with thoughtful gentleness, “James… are you sure you want to?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Jeremy’s reply was a guilty pout; James took it as a ‘yes’, too tense to speculate over whose perversion was worse. “Fine. Just give me five minutes”.

Quite sure the stairs didn’t use to be that steep, James walked to his bedroom and pulled the dress from the wardrobe and out of its cover. Once it was carefully spread out on the bed, James begun to take his clothes off.

His favourite dress. Jeremy had already assumed James had more than one, and a favourite among them.

He wasn’t wrong. Of the three dresses James had bought until then, the flowery one was the one he felt more confident in. The pattern was particularly indulgent over his belly and hips; James also knew how the hydrangea flowers embroidered in shades of white and blue matched his eyes and, less gloriously, a growing fraction of his hair, but it seemed impolite to emphasise such a thing. Self-referential, somehow. He had chosen the open back thinking it would have fitted more easily – he loved the way it looked once worn, deeper than he had assumed when buying it, revealing if not plainly raunchy. Thus, his favourite one.

Also, the one he had almost stained not so long ago, thinking about Jeremy way too ardently, in an oxymoronic ecstasy of silky fabric and imaginary rough hands. _Fuck_. That recall made goosebumps grow back on James’s skin as he put his arms into the long blouson sleeves.

He checked himself in the mirror to adjust the plunging back neckline, then took out the cardboard box containing the platform sandals that suited the dress best and sat on the edge of the bed to wear them. It was while struggling to undo the tiny metal buckle that James reconsidered how Jeremy had never mentioned shoes. _Not that I’m doing this for Jere- oh god who am I fooling? I’m fucking doing it for him – I’m a bloody idiot._

Bitterly disappointed by the dishonourable epiphany, James threw the left sandal at the now merciless reflection of himself. The impact wasn’t that hard, yet particularly unfortunate, and the mirror broke into several large pieces. Some fell on the floor, shattering in smaller fragments; the ones that remained glued to the frame formed an obsessive, jagged mosaic of James’s disheartenment. 

Deflating at that sight, James let himself slip off the bed; the wide skirt puffed out before draping dramatically around his legs as he sat down with his head on his knees.

The crashing noise startled Jeremy. James heard him calling from downstairs, “James, is everything okay?”

_No._

“James please say something, I need to know you’re fine”; Jeremy’s voice was getting closer together with heavy steps hurrying on the stairs, “I’m coming there.”

James remained there, in stoic resignation. No point in postponing the impact, no need to raise his voice and shout at Jeremy to keep out – he surely wouldn’t listen. James hoped he wouldn’t. Despised having hoped he wouldn’t. Gave up thinking, despising, or hoping and just waited on.

When he entered the bedroom, Jeremy saw James curled up at the bottom of the bed, arms crossed over his knees. Ruffled silver locks camouflaging among the hydrangeas, James looked like a mannequin badly discarded from the exhibition. Despite his stunning dress.

The fragments of the mirror scattered on the floor sparkled in green; Jeremy avoided them, and the sandal too, to reach James and crouch in front of him, taking care to not step on the hem of the skirt.

”James”, he then said with extraordinary softness, “Is everything fine?”

James raised his head mostly out of incredulity, wondering how Jeremy could find the whole scene remotely _fine_. He didn’t have the time to rebut anything though, since Jeremy cupped his face, large hands cool on his flushed cheeks, concerned blue eyes staring at him, and murmured, “You’re gorgeous, you know?”

It was the sort of absolution James didn’t know he needed to hear, coming from the one whose judgement counted the most. It was too much to bear, and James slipped off Jeremy’s hands to hide behind his owns and break down.

Jeremy leant just a little forward, taking care of not touching him, and spoke as softly as possible, “James, it’s all fine… you’re perfect like this…”

James could only sob in reply, and sob again at the thought of how miserable his sobs sounded. A complete mess, if it hadn’t been for Jeremy softly comforting him, “Calm down, my dear… it’s all fine, just breathe…”, close enough to almost nuzzle his head yet careful not to, “Try to calm down a bit…”

James tried to, taking long, deep breaths. Accidentally smelling Jeremy’s scent. Intentionally inhaling it like it was the most precious of the incenses. A dangerous distraction but a valid alternative to that contact Jeremy was so mindful in avoiding – James knew it meant Jeremy cared – that somehow worked in calming him.

When the sobbing stopped, Jeremy risked one hand on James’s wrist, largely over the cuff, and offered, “Hey… I suppose this is more of a party dress, but… what if we just have some tea now?”

“Dressed like this?”, James almost pouted, abruptly brought back to reality. His attempt to look Jeremy in the eye failed after a split second at the realisation of how close they were and he had to bite his lip to contain a late sigh.

“I don’t mind it, if you’re fine with it. It suits you. Let me see how it falls when you’re standing up, would you?”, Jeremy suggested with overwhelming kind-heartedness. James didn’t know if to feel unbelievably stupid or incredibly lucky. He got up all the same, almost faster than Jeremy despite being hindered by the floor-sweeping skirt.

“Come on, show it off – just mind the shards,” Jeremy spurred him, but James stood there, without swirling the dress like it deserved, not because of the shards only. He straightened up a bit to honour it, hoping to appear less embarrassed than he actually was. Eye contact remained out of the question, especially now that he was sure Jeremy’s eyes were on him, or at least on his dress.

“You look just as ravishing as I thought, if not more…”, Jeremy spoke in a whisper. James deeply hoped it was a set phrase only, since he really couldn’t afford himself to dwell over the fact Jeremy might have been thinking about him in a dress. So, before the implications could become unmanageable, he clung to Jeremy’s suggestion to move downstairs.

“So… tea?”, he stammered.

“Oh, yes, sure.”

Jeremy led the way downstairs, while James walked behind him until they were both in the kitchen. On the bright side, the incident saved him from all the embarrassment of walking down the stairs facing Jeremy’s reaction at the view, James couldn’t help considering. Too bad the mirror broke - he made a mental note to bring the broom with him when returning upstairs.

Jeremy knew better than to mess with James’s stuff – especially with him watching, especially if it was about tea – so he sat on his usual chair and let James do all the work, with the hope it would help him relax a bit.

He unwittingly gave himself something to worry about instead since, while standing at the counter, James offered the surprising view of his bare back.

Jeremy had already seen James naked many times but this was significantly different. Because he wasn’t naked, granted, but wearing an objectively marvellous dress instead. Rather a novelty considering James's taste in clothing - Jeremy ruled out the chance James had chosen it on someone else's advice. A dress that was sincerely very becoming on James, for as weird as that statement might have sounded. Also, a dress – James’s favourite dress – that was either significantly defective on the back, or intentionally worn by a shameless tempter. Jeremy took up the latter option.

His gaze followed the groove of James’s spine that emerged just below the three tiny buttons holding the dress together. It barely dented the wide, pale curvature of broad shoulders until it got lost under the racy hem right above James’s butt. A gentle dip, almost unnoticeable on the background of white, smooth skin. A snowfield. An impulsive desire of tracing patterns – his own patterns – on such an immaculate canvas.

The creases of the dress were dancing hypnotically as James moved from the sink to the hob, yet what Jeremy was hopelessly enchanted by was James’s back.

“James”, he heavily breathed out, “I haven’t noticed… the back of your dress, earlier.”

James flushed. Out of abashment, first, because he well knew the deep neckline showed down to his Apollo dimples, then out of guilt, because Jeremy was staring at his lower back – perhaps at his butt too – and James couldn’t help speculating.

“…too low?”, he asked without turning around. It sounded coquettish far beyond his intentions.

Jeremy inhaled sharply, “No. It’s perfect. This dress suits you perfectly”, then added under his breath, “You look bloody hot in it.”

James shuddered at those words, making the kettle clang against the hob grid as he put it on; the noise mixed up with the one the chair made being dragged on the floor as Jeremy stood up.

There was no way James was wearing pants under that dress. Jeremy figured it out and considered he would have had a tough time not growing hard under the gentle rustle of the fabric teasing naked, sensitive skin. Curiously, he was having a tough time not growing hard all the same despite actually wearing a well worn pair of jeans – a dress wouldn’t be that uncomfortably tight on his crotch, he also assumed, hence the need to stand up. Once upright, approaching James seemed the natural thing to do.

“I really don’t know what you’re doing to me James but… I think you’d better turn the burner off”, Jeremy muttered huskily, right behind James's shoulders.

James froze. That was an interesting twist. Not unhoped-for but absolutely unexpected, a chance beyond James’s wildest wishes. 

Surprisingly calm, he bit his inner cheek, both a reality check and a spur to not mess up things now, before turning the knob off. Deliberately, he silently pointed out to himself: Jeremy’s suggestion was a thing, his choice to comply and give up making tea another. It was a matter of perspective: he wasn’t trapped between Jeremy and the stove – he was in the right place at the right time. Apparently, also wearing the right dress.

Determined to get the most out of the situation, James suddenly found himself confident enough to turn around and face Jeremy, to stare back despite his still reddened eyes, to even offer a smirk and mischievously ask, “Now what?”

To James’s satisfaction, Jeremy’s eyes widened at the question. His gaze flickered from James’s lips to the bottom of the dress and back, but he hesitated to make a move; “I actually don’t want to risk ruining your dress…”, he justified himself.

“I have others”, James promptly replied, and Jeremy smiled at the sauciness of James’s tone. He lowered his gaze again and dragged one finger along the folds of the fabric, “This is your favourite one, though, right?”

“Yes.”

“I can see why – it’s… magnificent”, Jeremy began to falter, still finding it hard to look James in the eye. Beating about the bush wasn’t something Jeremy Clarkson was known for and James felt the need to investigate the reason behind it. 

“Jeremy, why are you doing this?”, he warily asked. It hit something because Jeremy cut the compliments and looked absolutely bewildered.

Stupid, stupid thing to do, James reconsidered. Especially when that close, wearing your favourite dress, and the content of his pants almost screamed how much he loved the whole setup.

James’s wasn’t hoping for any shocking confession or long-term agreement, whatever Jeremy’s worried furrows might have feared. Yet there was one thing he wouldn’t accept. So he broke the awkward silence to clarify his point.

“Is it out of pity?”

“No”. Resolutely enough for James’s doubts to be cleared – any further clarification would have probably broken the spell. Jeremy stared at him again, piercingly now, and James’s bigger concern became avoiding placing his mouth over Jeremy’s, so a nod was all he could offer without rushing things. Good thing he didn’t have to wait long.

Eyes now thin with renewed interest and intention, Jeremy hinted, “That being the case, would you…?” to which James whispered a feeble but nonetheless resolute "Yes."

“Shame you haven’t worn those sandals too, then, you would have been at the perfect height now”, Jeremy let go all in one breath.

“…for what?”, James asked with pretended naivety. Determinedly coquettish now, nearly insolent.

Jeremy skipped any worded reply. This time his hands were less careful, more demanding; palms scraping James’s jaw to reach his nape, fingers pulling tangled hair, all to angle James’s head and achieve that longed-for ‘perfect height’.

Negligible inconveniences, James deemed, especially considering how immediately deeply Jeremy kissed him. Eagerly, James would have said if only able to put a sentence together. Not that he was going to complain. Shamefully obliging, James resisted from clinging on Jeremy’s shoulders yet stood on his tiptoes to properly reciprocate.

Despite the heat of the moment, James’s attention to details – particularly active in detecting potential bad omens – couldn’t help noticing something odd in the way Jeremy leant forward, his feet firmly planted two tiles too far to be comfortable.

“Jeremy…”, he hoarsely began when they necessarily pulled back, short of breath yet trying his best to sound at ease; uselessly, since Jeremy seemed to have caught the wariness in his words – _in one single word, god May, you’re an open book_ – and was quick to rebut, “It’s all fine – it’s just I really don’t want to ruin it”.

Flattered by the unusual depth of attentiveness Jeremy was showing, James replied accordingly. Or tried to.

“You’re worth trashing it Jezza.”

 _Here, the stupidest thing to say – congrats May_. James’s confidence didn’t have time to break though, as Jeremy leant closer again, "No need to get to that point", his breath hot over James’s neck. James twitched as he felt large hands on his sides, fingertips already attempting to sneak under the edge of the fabric, “Would you mind moving this to the bed, though? Dry-cleaning is on me.”


End file.
